


fourteen months

by milkovichh



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Army!Ian, Fluff ??, M/M, idk what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 08:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkovichh/pseuds/milkovichh
Summary: Mickey had always hated summer, but now that it was bringing back his favourite Gallagher from a fourteen month deployment, he was close to calling it his favourite season.





	fourteen months

A sliver of moonlight came in a ray through the filthied window, casting shadows over the floor when the clouds drifted over it. Being the Southside, it was hardly peaceful — the hum of an engine in a stolen car, gunshots acting as the crickets of the night, drunken yelling (probably courtesy of Frank) all filled in what would be the silence of any other neighbourhood. A dim light was set under the covers of the youngest Milkovich’s bed, said boy sat up sleepily as he waited for the too-bright blue screen to finish loading.

  The loud, annoying Skype ringtone filtered through his headphones and he pulled a face at the loud noise, along with the quick flash of change of screen on his laptop. Quickly, to shut it up, he’d say, not to see the person on the other end as soon as he could, of course, the brunet answered the call and waited for the fuzzy, pixelated form of his boyfriend to appear. Slightly blurry, so he was, Ian Gallagher’s grinning face soon focused, green eyes shining and red hair neatly slicked back.

  Even after being together for the years they had, Mickey would do all he could do deny that, yeah, maybe seeing Ian on or off screen despite waking him, always gave him that fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. He rubbed his eyes, hugging the blanket tighter around him as if he could pretend it’s warmth was of the person through the screen. “Aye, Gallagher.”

  “Mickey!” Curse the device for making Ian’s voice sound so different. “Hey, did I wake you?”

  “’Course you did, asshole.” That was a lie, but Ian didn’t have to know that Mickey had been awake all night because Ian had texted earlier saying he would call, he just wasn’t sure when, and the older of the pair would sacrifice even his precious sleep to be able to Skype his boyfriend. Nine months was a long time to have not had him in his arms, let alone his country. 

  “Sorry,” the younger grinned, not sounding or looking even slightly apologetic. It didn’t matter — all that did was his smile, blurry video chat be damned. “I got loads to tell you, though.”

  “Yeah? I’m all fuckin’ ears.”

  “Well, they woke us up earlier to shower and shit, and I managed to take a picture of the sunrise between suiting up and leaving.” For a second, he fumbled with his phone and Mickey’s own made a noise with a notification a second later, displaying the orange and yellows of a perfect sunrise. “And then we got in the truck, and I got to sit at the back — y’know, the open roof bit that’s a little higher than the front? — and it was so fuckin’ hot, Mick, jesus, I was sweatin’ buckets, so then we pull up at this building, it’s like ...”

  The redhead continued his tales of the day, and Mickey, being the lovestruck boy and perfect fuckin’ boyfriend he was, listened to every word. He loved hearing what Ian did, because he was doing what he loved, his dream job of being in the army, and he was away from the boring Southside lifestyle. Maybe it stung a little to hear the way Ian enjoyed it all the same without Mickey, but the ginger always promised he missed the Milkovich boy like hell, and he’d still rather be home than the current war in whatever -stan he was in. 

  “What’d you do, then?” he spoke, after chattering away about his army buddies and the amazing shot he was with a gun, because he was a smug fucker even countries away. 

  “Slept, worked out a little. Took the kid to Mandy’s and we hung out. Not much.”

  “You mean you stole her food and left her with Yevgeny?”

  “Fuck off, Gallagher, not all of us fight wars on the daily.”

  Ian laughed his beautiful laugh, the one where he threw his head back and his chest shook with the sounds, before looking back at Mickey, even through a webcam, with such loving eyes that sixteen year old Mickey would have punched him on the spot. “Miss you.”

  “Yeah,” Mickey looked down, hand coming up to wipe his nose as he sniffed — it was a habit he picked up when he was nervous or embarrassed. “Yeah, miss you, too. Know when you’re comin’ home?”

  The good mood dropped instantly. This came up every call, since Mickey wanted nothing more than Ian to give up the army for good and Ian wanted to live his dream but love his boyfriend all the same. On deployment, it was worsened, since Mickey’s mind liked to remind that, at any second, his lover could be shot in a foreign country by someone who had no idea of who Ian was. Said boy smiled weakly, sympathetically, sadly, all at once, and murmured a small, “hey,” to get Mickey to look at him, “I don’t know yet, baby. But with how things are going over here, I think we’ll be home soon, things are calming down.”

 

As it turned, ‘calming down’ meant getting ambushed the next day. Ian was fine, but it meant he sure as hell wouldn’t be home as soon as he’d said. Thus, it had been five months since the Skype, and he was finally — _finally_! — coming home. 

  Mickey had always hated summer, but now that it was bringing back his favourite Gallagher from a fourteen month deployment, he was close to calling it his favourite season. Stressed, he was walking through his house like he was looking for something, though he was only passing time until he had to be at the airport, worried and adrenaline kicked high. Mandy had told him to sit the fuck down a few times, before scoffing and turning up the volume of the TV as if the sound would block her from seeing Mickey pace, which was stupid and gave him no choice but to flip her off on his way back to his bedroom for the twelfth time.

  He’d already cleaned the house (twice) and bargained Svetlana to take Yevgeny despite the fact that it was meant to be his weekend with the kid, gone fuckin’ shopping and washed all of Ian’s comfortable clothing, all for the redhead’s return. Surely, he’d want to come back to a flawless — mostly — house, some clean clothes, and food that wasn’t the same six meals they probably served in the army. Mickey knew Ian wouldn’t complain about having Yevgeny home (or having the place just how it was, for that matter) but Mickey wanted to just have this couple days with his boyfriend for themselves. No crying baby, no work, no interruption because he’d missed Ian so fucking bad. 

  “Pace any more and you’ll miss his flight,” Mandy shouted over the still-loud TV. “It lands in two hours, you should get going.”

  “Alright, I’m fuckin’— I’m goin’! Get the fuck outta my house, then, bitch, I haven’t got laid in so long.”

  “Still ain’t fair your horny ass gets to see Ian before the rest of us,” she was muttering, turning off his TV and tossing her can of beer in the trash because she was sure Mickey would have a fit if she threw it on the floor after he’d cleaned it twice. 

  “Yeah, yeah, quit fuckin’ sulkin’.” It was slightly hypocritical in the sense that all Mickey had really done with Ian gone was sulk, and if _he_ were being held back from seeing the boy from the second he returned to the country, he’d probably kill something.

  He grabbed his keys, straightened his shirt and checked his hair, before pushing his sister out of the house and locking the door behind the pair of them, each bickering in the way that they did. Still, he was kind enough to drive her to the Gallagher’s house, where she could sulk to Lip for a while. Of course, every Gallagher there seemed to want to remind him that they were only withholding the weekend from seeing their brother because he was probably exhausted and probably only wanted his boyfriend and bed, and that they were definitely  _only_ waiting the weekend, no longer. He simply nodded and grunted that if they didn’t shut up, he wouldn’t even be able to pick Ian up in time, before he was back in the car and driving the hour to the airport. 

 

The almost all-glass airport building at least had air conditioning and decent sandwiches, calming Mickey’s nervous form, blue eyes darting to the bored every minute and heart pounding at every announcement bell. He was nervous that shit would go wrong, that Ian’s deployment would have been extended longer last minute, or his plane would go down, ruining the fourteen months he’d managed to stay alive at _war_. 

  The minutes creeped slowly until his flight’s information read that it’d be in in five minutes. Already at the gate, Mickey watched the blue sky waiting for sight of the plane, wishing he could light a cigarette or _something_. At last, the plane was landing safely and announcements were made, and people were leaving. 

  Mickey stood, waiting impatiently for his lover. Did airports always take so long making sure their passengers got luggage and such? He waited, until a flash of red hair was among the crowd.

  Ian was still gorgeous. Slightly redder than he had been when he left, but absolutely littered in freckles that Mickey was all too eager to be able to count later on. He was dressed in his camo-print pants, green shirt tucked in, showing Mickey that he was ever stronger, better built. Not that the brunet could really take note right now, since he was running as fast as he fucking could to almost knock over the other in a hug. 

  Shit, he was _here_. Fourteen months had been too long to not have him, to have gut wrenching feelings and sad, lonely nights. Birthdays and a Christmas alone, only having photos and video calls to see his love. Mickey breathed in the calming scent of pine and oranges, the slight musk and masculine smell of _Ian_ that he had only had in the form of faintly-scented sheets. 

  “Mick, I— I fuckin’ _missed_ you, baby,” his voice was perfect — it was dropped slightly, deeper, maybe, but still ever so sweet and calm like it always had been for Mickey. Strong arms were wrapped just as tightly around the smaller’s frame, and Mickey didn’t care who was looking anymore. It was just them, for all he cared.

  “Ian,” he hummed, so quiet he wasn’t sure if the boy even heard. Ian drew back slightly, only to tilt Mickey’s head up to kiss him gently. It really had been too long, but this made up for all the fourteen months, since Ian’s lips tasted of chocolate and were soft and welcoming. It felt like they hadn’t touched in forever, and suddenly Mickey’s skin felt on fire with the way Ian’s hands were gently holding him. This reminded Mickey so much of why he hated deployments; for it almost _hurt_ to have Ian here, with how intense it was, and it was like he had never seen or touched his boyfriend before when they did meet. He felt less like Mickey Milkovich, grumpy thug who sulked about his soldier boyfriend, and more like the other half of _Mickey and Ian_ , boys who had been undoubtedly in love since teenage years and relied on one another. It was nice to not have to be constantly strong. It wasn’t even just this deployment, though, for Mickey had waited through many of these like some bitch at home, and it hurt that Ian missed him this much only to leave again.

  “Hey, why’re you crying? Don’t cry, Mick, fuck, I’m here.”

  It was gross, to Mickey, that he was fucking crying into their first kiss after over a year apart. His shoulders ached from how close he was holding Ian. 

  “I missed you like— like hell, man.”

  “I know, I know,” Ian was so gently caressing his cheek now, he wasn’t sure the airport still existed oppose to their own little bubble. “I ... I’m never goin’ again, okay?”

  “Huh?”

  “This ... this was my last deployment, Mickey.”

  Mickey suddenly looked at Ian accusingly, shoving his chest, even if he pulled him right back. “The fuck didn’t you tell me for?”

  “You’d want me back sooner,” Ian chuckled slightly, and holy shit had Mickey missed the way his chest vibrated with the sound. It was so sweet. 

  “Of course I would! You could’ve died, like, a billion times, you _asshole_.”

  “But I didn’t. And won’t ever be goin’ again. Because I love you, and I’m sick of leavin’ you behind.”

  “I— fucking _dickhead_ ,” even so, he kissed him again anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> im so shorT ON IDEAS PLEASE PROMPT ME AT MY TUMBLR (miilkovichh) THANKS


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